Time Lapse Lifeline
by TheaJ1
Summary: Set after Critical Condition. Harm tries to work up the courage to tell Mac how he feels. One-shot. Song-fic.


**A/N: **This fanfic is set after Critical Condition (8x01). It's my very first JAG fan fiction and I hope nobody's acting too much OOC—though, to be honest, there isn't much 'acting'—and that this isn't just complete nonsense. Well, in any case I'd love to hear what you think!

Enjoy

**Disclaimer: **JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario; I'm only borrowing.

* * *

TIME LAPSE LIFELINE

He was tired.

That was hardly a surprise after all that had happened this week. Their trip to Afghanistan. The daring—some might argue reckless and slightly insane—stunt he'd pulled to lead the cruise missile away from the battle group and thus saved the _Seahawk_.

And then there was today.

No, yesterday, actually, but it felt like he was still stuck in the same day, stuck in a loop of fear and pain and sadness and desperation that kept repeating itself. Kept making him live through it over and over again, and he was so very tired of it all.

That, he didn't know how to deal with. How to shake the bone-deep weariness that had settled on him, that was dragging him down. He rarely felt like this, was used to landing on his feet, was used to moving on simply because he had to. And because doing so gave him a sense of control.

But this, this reminded him of his accident last year, of being tossed and turned around and very nearly drowned in the ocean. Frozen half to death and clinging on to hope by a thread that got thinner with every passing moment, every time he was pulled under by the storm-tossed sea that was threatening to crush him. But even then he'd still been in control—in a way. He might have been unable to save himself, but he hadn't been completely helpless either. He'd fought to stay alive, had done everything he could to aid the search party. He'd fought and he'd won.

But today—yesterday—had been completely different, had been an experience he didn't want to live through ever again. All he'd been able to do was hope.

And hope, as he'd learned the hard way, sometimes wasn't enough.

* * *

_I'm keeping up, keeping up with the time lapse lifeline_

_And they can run, they can run from the font to the Last Rites_

_And we can hear, we can hear the first beat to the flatline_

_I'm keeping up, keeping up with the time lapse lifeline_

_And once it's done_

* * *

Death had touched him before, but this was different, had changed something. For the first time in he didn't know how long he'd been able to think clearly, to look at his life and see it as what it was instead of as what he thought it should be. Death had a tendency to put everything into perspective and it had made him realise that he couldn't go on like this, couldn't waste any more time than he already had. One of them might die tomorrow and then there'd only be pain and loss and regret. Death was an accepted part of his life, had to be, especially now since his country was at war. But if he died—or she died—before he could tell her how he felt, then what would have been the point of their having met, of their having become what they were?

And so he had come.

* * *

_Oh we dreamed a life_

_It was just like that, was just like that_

_And just like that and just like that it's done_

* * *

He raised his hand to knock. He wasn't sure that this was a good idea, but something had compelled him to come, a sense of urgency that had kept him awake although he felt drained and empty. Still, he hesitated. If he did this, he'd cross a line and everything would change. His life would change and he didn't know if he was ready for it. He didn't think of himself of being afraid of change, of moving forward. And he wasn't. But this wasn't about moving forward. This was about leaving something behind, of giving up part of himself. And that was what he was scared of. More scared than he'd ever been of anything before.

So he gave himself a push and knocked. Just once, his knuckles barely grazing the wood. Too light for her to hear if she was asleep, which she probably was. It wasn't even midnight yet, but the last twenty-four hours had been exhausting. On the flight back she'd dozed off at least a dozen times, her head resting on his shoulder. But she'd jerked awake every time their plane so much as shivered.

Inside the apartment, it was silent. So she was asleep then—and why wouldn't she be? He considered knocking again, but he didn't want to wake her. Then why had he come? His determination so see this matter through faded with every second he stood in the darkness, motionless. Nothing had changed, really. They were both still who they'd always been and that was the problem, had always been the problem. He was afraid to let himself fall, to give his life over to chance. If he told her, nothing would change because it couldn't until he changed, and he feared he wasn't capable of that.

Besides, she already knew. He'd told her, in a way, at her engagement party and things were still the same between them. Because of him. Because he hadn't fought for her. Because he kept making simple things too complicated.

And so he dropped his hand and turned to leave.

* * *

_Back it up, back it up, stop, fast-forward, rewind_

_And watch the sun, watch the moon taking turns in the same sky_

_And you were dead as the leaves, now you're new as the springtime_

_Back it up, back it up, stop, fast-forward, rewind_

_And once it's done_

* * *

He heard a click as a key was turned in a lock. A moment later the lights came on and he paused, glancing over his shoulder. Turning around, he just stood there, looking at her. On the way to her apartment, he'd gone over the words in his mind again and again, but now he couldn't even remember them.

When she finally spoke, it wasn't what he'd expected.

"Do you want to come in?" Her voice was low, hushed. But it held no surprise, just the same weariness that was bearing down on him.

"Yeah, sure." He forced a smile and followed her inside. Her apartment was dark aside from the soft golden glow of the lights in the hallway. "Did I wake you?" he asked quietly.

"No." She closed the door and darkness swallowed them. "I was up."

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Moonlight filtered through the drawn blinds, but he still couldn't make out more than silhouettes. "Sitting in the dark?" he asked doubtfully.

She stepped past him and sank down on the sofa, her hands loosely folded in her lap. "Why not? You were standing outside in the hallway—in the dark—for seventeen minutes."

He could feel her eyes on him. "Point taken," he allowed as he went to sit down beside her. His thigh pressed against hers, but she didn't move away. "I couldn't sleep either," he sighed. "It's been a tough week."

"That, it has," she admitted wearily. "So… Why are you here?"

"Do I need a reason to come visit you?" Evasive, as always. Why couldn't he just tell her the truth? Why did he always have to dance around the issue instead of just addressing it?

"It's two minutes to midnight," was all she said in reply, her tone dry.

He laughed once, the sound subdued. "Yeah, well, I guess it is a little late for a social call."

"Then why did you come?" There was something in her voice that he couldn't quite identify, but it made him think that, on some level, she already knew. Or at least suspected. But that wasn't going to be enough and he knew it. Why was it so hard to acknowledge the connection they shared, a connection that went deeper than anything he'd ever experienced before? Then again, perhaps this was exactly the reason why he couldn't. Because he'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about her.

And that scared him.

* * *

_Oh we dreamed a life_

_It was just like that, was just like that_

_And just like that and just like that it's done_

_Oh we dreamed a life_

_It was just like that, was just like that_

_And just like that and just like that it's done_

* * *

"I wanted to talk to you," he admitted eventually. Not a lie, but not quite the truth either. Evasive, always evasive, always making sure he had a way out, afraid of committing to something he wasn't ready for. He took chances all the time, but he seemed incapable of doing so where his private life was concerned. He knew better than anyone that there were no certainties in life, that there was no way to control it because it was uncontrollable and still he tried. He couldn't stop; it was too much a part of him. His lifeline, she had called it, and she wasn't wrong.

But what would happen if he let go?

"But you look like you could use some sleep," he added belatedly, "so I should probably come back tomorrow."

Only he didn't know if he'd still have the courage then. It was already fading, his determination to tell her yielding to the doubts that had been there all along. So he stayed where he was, sitting on the very edge of the sofa, trying very hard not to look as tense as he felt. He didn't want to leave despite what he'd just said, not until he'd told her. But he didn't know how to, was afraid of the consequences, and he wanted to get out as fast as he could.

Coming here had been a mistake.

He hadn't changed.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he realised that while he might not have changed, was still the same person he'd always been, something _had_ changed, was different from the way it had been twenty-four hours ago. His universe had shifted and he felt out of synch—that had to be the reason for this strange, disconcerting sense of urgency that had been nagging at him ever since he got home from the office after reporting in. He had to do something about it, _needed_ to do something about it and he knew what.

But for that he had to let go of his lifeline and he didn't know if it could.

A soft sigh broke into his depressing musings. Glancing down, he found that her head lay on his shoulder, her hazel eyes closed, her breathing starting evening out—she was falling asleep. She rarely looked so fragile, so easy to break; it had been a very long day for her too and would take both of them some time to recover.

He knew he had to make a choice. She was already half asleep, the opportunity to tell her almost out of reach, and if he didn't say the words now, he might not have the courage to do it some other time; it had been so very hard to come here in the first place.

And yet… All his life he'd struggled to stay in control, a necessity in the world he lived in. But she was right. He still thought of flying as his world, but it wasn't, not anymore. Hadn't been for a long time, if he was honest, though admitting that, even to himself, hurt because doing so felt like abandoning the very thing that had made him who he was, had shaped his life for better and for worse. He didn't know who he'd be without it. If he _could_ be someone that he was comfortable with without it.

_Let your lifeline go before it becomes a noose_, she had said and he realised that it was already tightening around his neck, already suffocating him. But cutting the lifeline would mean leaving part of him behind.

He looked at her still form. But if he did this, he would also gain something in return, something that he couldn't imagine ever living without.

_It's time_, he told himself. He'd waited long enough. If he waited any longer, he might never get his change to tell her.

So he did.

"I love you, Mac," he said quietly into the silent darkness.

And, with these words, he let go.

* * *

_Still we stand with the help of a steady hand_

_Capture images of boy and man till it's done_

_And seven years combined is just the flicker of a neon sign_

_Little negatives of hope refined_

_Until they're done, oh they're done_

* * *

For a moment, time seemed to stop. He felt like the world had stopped turning as he waited for her reaction—then it hit him that she might already be asleep, that she might not have heard and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut because he knew he wouldn't be able to work up the courage to utter these words again.

He waited. His heart was hammering in his chest so loud that he could almost hear. She hadn't heard, he realised. She was already asleep and he'd missed his chance, like he'd already missed so many chances.

He was so caught-up in a downward spiral of despair and misery that he nearly didn't hear.

"I love you too," she muttered, reaching for his hand and sliding her fingers into his.

And his heart soared.

* * *

_Oh we dreamed a life_

_It was just like that, was just like that_

_And just like that and just like that it's done_

_Oh we dreamed a life_

_It was just like that, was just like that_

_And just like that and just like that it's done_


End file.
